


anathema

by sleepylouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drug Abuse, I Blame Tumblr, I suck at tagging, M/M, excess angst, excess italics, excess zouis, fluff at the end i promise, lots of louis and harry, no smut soz, tad of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:22:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylouis/pseuds/sleepylouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis is haunted by villains and doesn't believe in superheros until a kid with overly-large green eyes shows him how to see the extraordinary in everyone.</p><p>(or the au where louis struggles with addiction and harry just really loves louis.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	anathema

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Anathema](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3085802) by [panika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panika/pseuds/panika)



> this is for my baby (not so baby anymore help me) maria because she makes me so wheelchair emoji love you el mar happy late birthday 
> 
> i have no idea how this came together honestly

when louis was young, he remembers his mum tucking him in every night with a story and a warm glass of milk. she'd get louis into his power ranger pajamas and his favorite toy before asking him what book he wanted to hear. louis would always pick the ones about the good guys and the bad guys where the good guys always won because those were his absolute _favorites,_ and then he'd listen to tales of heroic actions and awe-inspiring bravery. louis sipped his milk, soaked it all in, and dreamed of one day being that good guy who could _always_ beat the bad guy.

 

 

now louis is twenty-one and he's grown up a bit since then.

 

 

louis isn't the good guy from the stories, he isn't any hero, and he sure isn't honorable. he isn't brave or special or admirable--louis tomlinson is just _louis tomlinson._

( _although louis has a best friend named zayn and louis thinks that maybe zayn was meant to be a super hero.)_

 

 

zayn is special and he's admirable and he's talented. zayn has this super power of making everyone (including people like louis) feel like they're worth something. he's the kind of person who doesn't love very easily, but once he does, it's fierce and unwavering.

 

 

_(zayn is the kind of person louis wishes he could've been.)_

 

since louis was young, he's also met the bad guys.

 

his mum used to read him stories of horrible monsters and evil men and destructive robots. _those_ were the things louis learned to fear--and it really isn't fair because those stories are _lies._

louis is twenty-one now, and he's also _quite_ familiar with the bad guy.

 

he goes by the name _cocaine_ and he's been chasing louis since he turned eighteen. he's the most evil of all the villains louis has ever known because he's smart and he's addictive and he's _always_ there.

 

maybe if louis was a superhero like zayn, he'd be able to fight him. maybe if louis was brave and admirable and special, he'd have the power to overcome such a deceptive villain and maybe have a chance of becoming a good guy too.

 

but louis is not a superhero. louis is just _louis._

when louis was young, his mum used to tell him the good guy would never lose. louis really did believe it because that's what the stories _said_ and the stories were never wrong. good guy wins and bad guy is destroyed, the _end._

in louis' real-life story, he's not exactly _a good guy,_ but he does his best. louis is just the _guy_ and he's fighting the bad guy and he's losing.

 

 louis' story is named reality, and his eventual fate is called death.

 

and louis can't do anything about it because he's not a superhero.

 

_(how does it feel to be ordinary?)_

-

 

the alleyway louis pulls up to is empty. he turns off his car and sighs into the silence.

 

it's dusk, and the text louis received earlier specifically _said_ to meet at sunset with this address. louis made sure to it check five times and read the instructions _very_ carefully. he is to be here with the three hundred pounds he owes, and he's supposed to come alone.

 

_(louis has been through this so many times.)_

except he always has the money, and he always has it on time. louis isn't particularly organized or motivated, but he knows that failure to deliver the proper amount will result in the kind of pain he never wants to experience.

 

it's the pain that soon awaits him because louis only has a hundred pounds and no excuse as to why he's missing the extra two hundred.

 

he's breathing shakily and he feels sick to his stomach, but he refuses to be a coward and skip the meeting all together. there comes a point where he has to face the things he fears the most--and tonight seems to be the perfect time. louis just has to be a man about it.

 

( _breathe.)_

 

a beat-up white car comes pulling into the alleyway moments later. the tinted windows disguise the faces inside, but louis has seen them so many times that it isn't any surprise when a brown-haired twenty-something gets out of the car flanked by two muscular men.

 

nick takes off his sunglasses and stares at louis, who's watching from the inside of his car.

 

louis tries to keep the fear from his face as he steps outside into the brisk autumn air. a light breeze ruffles his hair and carries the odor of a dumpster only yards behind nick. louis has the urge to cover his face with his sleeve, but a paralyzing terror keeps him locked in place.

 

"louis," nick says lazily. "think you owe me about three hundred?"

 

"yes," louis answers, his voice less shaky than he expected. he doesn't let his gaze drop from nick's sharp brown eyes.

 

"well, i don't want to wait for the night to come," he snaps, nodding to louis' bag. "count it out."

 

a silence falls between them where louis stares and doesn't move and tries to find a way to explain his underpayment, but adrenaline blocks his mind and makes it hard to think.

 

 instead of taking another few moments to piece together a story, louis takes worst possible option and blurts out the blatant truth.

 

"i only have a hundred."

 

" _a hundred,"_ nick repeats slowly. "this isn't a fucking _charity,_ tomlinson. a hundred doesn't cut it."

 

"that's all i have," louis says quietly. he lets his gaze drop to his feet.

 

"i made you a deal," nick says coldly. "and when i hold up my end of the deal, i expect you to hold up yours. which you've been very good at until now."

 

louis doesn't say anything.

 

"being the reasonable man i am, i'm willing to make you another deal," nick continues. "i take your hundred now, and you return next week with the owed two hundred and we cut off relations. there's still an upfront punishment that'll be paid momentarily."

 

nick glances over his shoulder. louis doesn't make any move.

 

"next option. we still take your hundred and you still pay us back, but we'll proceed business as usual. you'll just have to pay an extra hundred per delivery. oh, and the upfront punishment still stands either way."

 

"an extra hundred?" louis yelps. "you're out of your mind!"

 

"and you're out of options," nick says smoothly. "take your pick."

 

louis glares at him furiously, balling up his fists. he'd love to take a swing at nick, to knock the _cockiness_ out of his grin, but he'd be lights-out before he could even get a good hit in.

 

"i'll take the second one," louis spits from behind his teeth.

 

nick may be a total asshole, but he delivers quality product on-time and without arousing suspicion. no one around london does it better than he does--which is why he has the power to completely rip louis off.

 

"tough love, tomlinson," nick smiles with a small wink. "next time it'll be more... _permanent_ if you forget your payments or try to run from it. i don't make the same mistake twice."

 

louis knows exactly what that means. he has a week to make the payment, or else nick will bring him closer to death than he’d ever want to be at the age of twenty-one. nick doesn’t bluff either—he keeps true to his promises, especially when it comes to money. failure to deliver the debt he owes is synonymous with _death sentence._

 

louis feels a bolt of fear streak through his body thinking about the _present_ and the _future._

“let’s hope you don’t disappoint next week,” nick says smoothly. “i don’t like my friends here working too hard if they don’t have to—it’s a tiring job, you know. don’t exhaust them tomlinson, yeah?”

 

nick makes a gesture to the huge men behind his back and before louis can move, he’s surrounded and his arms are pinned behind his back. louis expects it though, so he only lets out a small whimper instead of an embarrassing scream like his conscious is telling him to do.

 

they make swift business out of it.

 

one fist comes swinging and it connects with louis' face. he screams in pain as lights burst in his line of vision--his stomach gives a horrible lurch. louis is brought to his knees by the force of it, which is his stupidest move by far because it exposes his ribs--a fatal flaw he quickly pays dearly for.

 

numerous kicks are aimed to his sides ruthlessly. louis curls into the fetal position, trying to protect his ribs but it’s no use because these men know where they’re aiming and they know the places where it would hurt--

 

he's screaming and tears are rushing down his face, intermingling with blood. louis can't breathe--his whole chest feels like it's been cracked open, piercing his lungs and choking his heart. louis' brain is screaming for oxygen, but he can't get any there because he isn't breathing right--he's going to black out any minute now and louis doesn't think it's such a bad thing if he won't feel this splitting pain all throughout his body like a fire, licking its destructive flames over every inch of his flesh--

 

nick watches without flinching once.

 

it feels like forever—or maybe it’s the pain distorting his sense of time—before the men back off. it’s nick’s command that pulls them away from louis’ mangled body and louis could be thankful—but it’s also nick’s command that left him in a bleeding, bruised heap.

 

“got the message, tomlinson?” nick calls over his shoulder. his laughs echo off the alley wall as he slips back into his car, starts it up, and speeds away.

 

louis doesn’t move for a long, long time. his body feels useless and he’s slipping in and out of consciousness from the unbearable amount of pain. he tries to reach for his keys, maybe drag himself into his car because it’s so _cold_ on this damp asphalt, but any movement at all makes him yelp.

 

so louis is left to wait and hope he doesn’t pass out before he can get in the car and drive home.

 

the only thought on his mind is the two hundred pounds he owes and the one week deadline he has to get that money. louis doesn’t have two hundred pounds. louis can’t _get_ two hundred pounds.

 

he closes his eyes and lets out a muffled groan.

 

_the clock starts now._

_-_

 

"louis! where have you been?"

 

zayn is sitting cross-legged in front of the tv with an annoyed look on his face. underneath the irritation, louis can sense a little bit of relief too.

 

louis forces a wide smile and shrugs half-heartedly. he makes sure he keeps his face away from the light, angling himself so zayn can only see his profile.

 

"i've been at the bar," louis lies easily. "it smells awful in there--need to shower--"

 

he keeps his hoodie pulled over his face and walks quickly past zayn. he isn't so lucky though--zayn grabs his hand and yanks him towards the sofa.

 

"i've smelt much worse, louis," zayn says impatiently. "you're going to sit here and explain to me why you've been ignoring my calls all day-- _holy shit."_

louis _'_ hood falls away from his face on accident and louis tries to pull it up before zayn notices, but it's too late. the broad expanse of bruises on the left side of his face in combination with his extremely puffy eye make it hard to ignore.

 

louis curses loudly.

 

"louis, what the _fuck?"_ zayn says under his breath. he grabs louis' chin and forces him to look towards to left so he can inspect his face. louis pushes him away in indignation and pulls up the hoodie again.

 

"it's nothing zayn," he mumbles tiredly, "i'm exhausted and sore and filthy--"

 

"were you mugged, louis?" zayn demands, ignoring him completely. "was it an attack?" or did someone jump you--"

 

" _no!"_ louis says in frustration. he buries his face in his hands--he should've just stayed at stan's house for the night because stan knows what's going on and he _never_ asks questions. "look, it was a bar fight, alright? i obviously got the worst of it!"

 

zayn is still glaring at him and his chest is still heaving, but he doesn't make any move to argue. there's a tense few minutes where the two of them stare at each other, but louis doesn't let his expression waver. he forces a look of embarrassment on his face because that's something zayn would expect out of the old louis, the louis he _used_ to know--

 

"alright," zayn relents after a minute. louis internally sighs in relief, but doesn't let it show.

 

"you really did get the shit beat out of you, mate. and you really do smell foul. go shower before i upset my dinner,” zayn adds with a smile and a shove.

 

louis laughs bitterly, wishing zayn knew just how true that is. he wishes zayn knew a lot of things, really, because zayn could make it better. zayn knows how to fix everything.

 

he wishes zayn knew that louis owes two hundred pounds to one of the most dangerous man in london with practically no way to pay it off. he wishes zayn knew that failure to deliver that money by next week will result in an absolute bloodbath for louis. he wishes zayn knew how scared he is because zayn could maybe help him figure it out.

 

secrets and lies are an occupational hazard of being an addict behind closed doors though. louis knows that well by now.

 

 _still_ , _he just wishes he wasn't so alone in all of this._

 

 

-

 

 

the next morning, louis is awake and out of the house before zayn can even stir.

 

he didn't sleep, between the pain in his ribs and the situation at hand. louis has so much to do today that he has to push those things aside and get dressed though, and as much as he dreads _moving_ he dreads the alternative of answering zayn’s questions a whole lot more.

 

dressing is a very fragile process and takes a long time, but louis manages to pull on a jumper and some sweatpants with minimal cursing.

 

the sun is bathing louis' room in strokes of golden light by the time he heads out of the flat. he scribbles a quick note to zayn saying ' _went to the tea shop for a little bit of stress relief. might catch up with some old friends. i'll text you."_

 

louis should feel guilty about leaving zayn again, but he's got much bigger things on his mind.

 

 the street is deserted, and not a sound disrupts the blanketing silence when louis steps outside. louis walks to his car with his hoodie pulled up, puts his keys into the ignition, and pulls away without looking back at the flat.

_(there's splattered blood on the wheel and louis' dashboard.)_

louis gulps back the lump in his throat as he catches sight of last night's evidence. he doesn't remember much about driving home because he'd spent nearly forty minutes slipping in and out of consciousness, and by time he'd gotten into his car he still felt dazed. the memory makes phantom pains streak through louis' ribs again.

 

louis shoves that thought out of his mind and turns on his radio.

 

music floods the small car, drowning out everything including louis' mind. he forgets about zayn and nick and the debt he owes and the clock running down his time left _._ louis forgets how badly he wants a hit and how much he hates himself for even craving such a killer.

 

the ride to stan's flat takes about ten minutes, and louis doesn't leave any silence to ponder anything.

 

stan's lights are on and he's waiting for louis by the front window--he'd gotten louis' text last night, and he understands the severity of the situation. the sight of his face is oddly comforting to louis; it kind of makes him think that someone _cares_ about him.

 

except stan isn't really a _friend._ he's a closed-door addict too, and they both depend on each other for support and advice. their relationship is based on a series of debts and favors they owe each other--stan wouldn't ever do anything for louis if louis hadn't done anything for him first.

 

it's lucky that louis helped stan out of a sticky situation last month or else louis wouldn't have anyone to go to right now.

 

 

louis unlocks his car and walks up to stan's door. he doesn't even have to knock before it swings open, revealing a very worn-out and drugged man around his late twenties. his hair is messy and matted with oil, his shirt hasn't been changed in days, and he holds the distinct smell of alcohol. louis plugs his nose as he steps inside.

 

stan's flat isn't any better--in fact, louis is surprised he doesn't have health inspectors knocking on his door for violating nearly every rule in the book. this is the sort of shit you see on _hoarders_ or something.

 

"hi stan," louis says coolly. "looking wonderful as ever."

 

"you look like shit too mate," stan snaps back. "don't think you're any better than i am."

 

louis wants to make a quippy remark, but he's smart enough to know he can't piss stan off before asking him for a favor. instead, he takes a breath and grants stan a small smile.

 

"remember last month when i got you out of trouble with the police?" louis says carefully. stan nods and waits for him to continue. "well, now i need help with my own issue. i owe nick two-hundred by next week, and if i don't pay him back, i guarantee i'll look a whole lot worse than this."

 

"two hundred?" stan laughs and shakes his head. "you've got to be out of your bloody _mind."_

"please," louis says quietly. " _please._ you know how he is, and i just got laid off from my job. i can't keep borrowing from zayn because he's bound to notice at some point. you're my only hope."

 

"no can do," stan says firmly. " sorry mate, but i'm about to lose my place because i'm behind on those payments. best i can do as a return favor for last month is to give you a gram of my stash."

 

louis curses loudly and closes his eyes. he wasn't expecting much from stan, but he still had a tiny inkling of optimism that he'd come through. after all, stan is louis' last ditch hope.

 

this means he'll have nothing to pay nick with come next week. and _that_ means he'll be half dead if nick finds some pity somewhere inside his apathetic mind and doesn't finish the job completely.

 

louis thinks he's going to be sick.

 

stan can only give him a gram of the stuff that's gotten him in this problem. it seems like a bitter play on irony, but louis won't have enough money to buy any for a while if he survives next week. so even though it's a pitiful consolation, louis knows he needs something in reserve so he doesn't run dry.

 

"i'll take the gram," he says numbly.

 

stan nods and pulls a little bag out of his sofa cushion. he hands it to louis with this apologetic look on his face because he _knows_ nick, considering he deals with him too, and he knows how much trouble louis will be in.

 

"good luck, louis," stan says heavily. "hope i hear from you soon."

 

"yeah," louis replies, avoiding stan's look. "yeah. me too."

 

they shake hands awkwardly, then louis leaves. he’s back into the fresh air and it's a lot easier to breathe out here where there aren't foul odors clogging louis' mouth and nose

 

louis still feels like he's suffocating.

 

he is practically a dead man.

 

 _is this how people on death row feel?_ louis can't help but wonder. _is it supposed to be bittersweet?_

 

of course, louis is _scared_ \--anyone in their sane mind would be terrified--but he's also kind of relieved. he wouldn't have to deal with this mess anymore. he wouldn't deal with the constant disappointment he feels with himself. he wouldn't have to deal with the reactions of the few left who actually _care_ about louis when they find out what really happened.

 

it's a lot to process before eight in the morning.

 

he's feeling so emotionally overwhelmed and physically tired that he doesn't know what to do. louis just stares at his steering wheel with the splattered blood on it for a long, long time.

 

there's a very good chance he is going to be dead before next monday.

 

louis pulls out of stan's driveway, and makes random turns where he feels like he wants to. he drives and turns and parks sometimes just to think about his situation before he pulls away again.

 

_louis will only have lived for twenty-one years._

 

he passes a school somewhere along the way. lots of school buses sit in the car park, letting off a load of rosy-cheeked kids with colorful backpacks. they can't be more than seven years old--they're so _small_ and their eyes are so large and wide and excited--

 

louis watches as a pair of blonde girls get out of the bus. they have matching bows tied into their golden hair, matching dresses, and even matching shoes. when they turn around, louis notices they have bright blue eyes.

 

 _those girls could easily be daisy and phoebe_ , louis thinks numbly. he wonders if the they still remember what he looks like, considering he hasn't seen them since they were little. now they're probably school-age and they're probably getting on buses with matching hair bows and dresses and shoes just like those girls--

 

_louis could be dead before he ever sees them again._

it's like the weight that tips the scale.

 

louis is shaking and his breaths are short and uneven. there's this lump in his throat, swallowing his air whole and making it hard to swallow. louis sees the twins even when he looks away, except he sees charlotte and felicite too. he sees everyone he would never see again, like zayn and his mum and niall and--

 

louis feels like his mind is splitting right down the seams.

 

he drives away and parks somewhere near a deserted street far from the school and the haunting images of his sisters. louis throws open his car door and runs from the scene, his heart pounding and his ribs screaming for relief. everything hurts and louis just wants to get away--

 

except he's practically hyperventilating and his bruised ribs can't take the pressure. louis feels dizzy from low oxygen and the extreme pain--he sways dangerously and collapses against a damp alley wall.

 

_louis should be dead--he deserves it._

like a storm breaking ashore, louis' sobs unleash in a tidalwave of fury. he buries his head in his arms and lets the realization of everything going on around him sink in. the thoughts running through louis' mind fuel his sobs, and he's shaking violently before he knows it. louis' jumper is stained with snot and tears and the heavy feeling of sorrow he can't shake off his shoulders.

 

_distantly, louis realizes how beautiful the sunrise is._

 

_(it's a pity he only has six more left.)_

louis cries uncontrollably for twenty more minutes before he finally makes himself sick. his head pounds and he feels like he's being stabbed with white-hot pokers as he heaves and heaves until nothing but bile comes up. the effort saps the energy out of louis; he collapses against the filthy asphalt, letting out whimpers of pain every once and while.

 

in fact, louis is so caught up in his own misery that he doesn't notice he's no longer alone in the alleyway.

 

he doesn't hear the large pair of feet walking up apprehensively. he doesn't see the long shadow cast against the opposite alley wall. louis doesn't even _know_ someone is there until the stranger finally says something.

 

"er--is everything alright here?"

 

louis whips around, eyes wide and scared. louis can't really see the person's face because the sun shines bright against their back, illuminating their outline. louis briefly wonders if that's what an angel would look like.

 

"uh--hello?" the person crouches down, and louis finally realizes it's a man. he turns his face to get a good look at him, his thoughts feeble and weak.

 

the boy has glorious green eyes, wildly curly hair, and a sharp jawline. his brows are furrowed in concern, and his pink, supple lips are contorted into worry.

 

now louis definitely thinks he's seeing something angelic.

 

"hey," the kid says nervously putting a broad hand on louis' shoulder. "s'alright. listen, i'm gonna help you best i can, okay? you just have to say something. start with your name maybe?"

 

"i'm louis," he says in a quivering voice. louis wipes his face and turns away from the stranger in embarrassment. "look, i'm fine really--"

 

"nice try," the kid says gently, sitting down next to louis. he smiles sadly. "i have a forty-five minute break, and nothing else to do except to sit with you, uh... _louis_."

 

the way louis’ name rolls off his tongue is nice—his voice is deep and slow and dipped in honey. he makes louis’ name sound sugary and succulent without even _trying t_ o be seductive or anything.

louis doesn’t answer him though. he doesn’t want to because he doesn’t want help or company or anything, even if the boy is incredibly pretty with a rich voice.

 

"well, if you don't want to talk, i can," he continues. "i'm harry styles and i'm nineteen. the wall we're currently sitting against belongs to the bakery where i work.  it's really a nice place--we make really good sour dough bread, but our lemon poppy seed muffins are infamous. i eat one every day--matter of fact, i was about to eat it during my break--"

 

harry digs in his pocket and pulls out a steaming muffin wrapped in a napkin. louis eyes it suspiciously, conflicted with his raging hunger and his flat out confusion as to why someone is even _here_ right now.

 

_(the hunger wins.)_

louis takes the muffin and bites into it greedily, unaware of how hungry he truly was. the succulently warm bread melts on his tongue and explodes into a golden webwork of flavor--he moans unintentionally, completely struck with how delicious the muffin is.

 

harry laughs, and louis feels a little more than embarrassed.

 

"we don't do bad business, eh?" he says with pride, his green eyes glinting happily. "made that batch myself too."

 

"s'good," louis nods, mouth filled with muffin. "thanks."

 

"no problem," harry says, watching louis finish the treat. it makes louis really uncomfortable (this whole situation does, really,) but he doesn't say anything. "hey, since i gave you a muffin it's only fair you tell me one thing about yourself, right?"

 

louis snorts in surprise because that was _clever._ harry knew exactly where he was going when he gave louis the muffin, but louis doesn't think it takes away from the sincerity of the gesture at all. harry genuinely wanted him to eat, and he genuinely wants to know about louis.

 

( _it really doesn't make sense.)_

"well, if you want to know something about me... I've got a terrible headache," louis says, taking the last bite out of his muffin, "and i've just made the record for the worst first impression ever."

 

harry laughs, like _really_ laughs. he tosses his head back, the sun tracing his jawline with its golden fingertips. his pretty boyish curls splay across the wide expanse of his smooth forehead, and his long eyelashes cast shadows against his cheeks. harry's wide mouth is full and happy as a bright, bubbling laugh escapes his lips.

 

_louis sort of thinks he's extraordinary._

"it's not a bad impression!" harry is still chuckling as he turns to louis again. "it's kind of like--you see all these magnificent things coming together and impressions don’t matter because there’s something bigger going on you know?”

 

“absolutely not,” louis says. he pulls his hoodie up over his face so harry will stop looking at his bruises and the conversation falls flat.

harry gives louis time to savor his muffin--which he tries to do, but it's just so good louis can't help it. the only sound that fills the silence is louis eating, and it makes both of them uncomfortable because harry doesn't want to stare and louis doesn't want harry to hear him chewing.

"this alleyway is disgusting," harry says to fill the space. "what do you say, louis?"

 

"it's no taj mahal," louis shrugs, wiping his face. he folds the muffin wrapper into an airplane and throws it across the alleyway. it lands neatly on top of the dumpster.

 

"what do you say we go back into the bakery?” harry muses, looking at the opposite wall of the alley. "i'll get you another muffin and some painkillers for that headache of yours."

 

"what's the catch?"

 

"catch?" harry is thrown off track, but he doesn't let it stop him. "well, i wasn't thinking about a catch, but now that you mention it... i suppose you have to have a cup of tea with me."

 

"sounds like blackmail," louis snorts. he wipes his face and tries not to think how terrible he must look, with his face puffy from crying and still injured from last night. lucky he wore a beanie this morning or else his hair would be a disaster too.

 

"sounds like a good deal to me," harry smiles. "free muffins and free tea! i don't even bite."

 

"that's a major plus," louis nods. "okay, you won me over. but i insist on the muffins you made and i'm a sucker for chai tea."

 

"done and done," harry says proudly, standing up. he offers louis a hand. "nice making business with you."

 

the remark is harmless and meant in good fun, but it still drains louis' face of color. he tries to smile back, but it's feeble and forced--something that harry picks up on right away, because his face flushes and he loses a bit of his composure.

 

"er--here, we can go in through the back," harry stammers, ears bright red. "barbara owns the bakery, and she won't mind at all if i give you a few free samples. she's one of those people who's truly magnificent... and yeah..."

 

harry trails off, still clearly flustered.

 

louis doesn't mind though because he understands what harry means. there _are_ magnificent people like this barbara, and there are magnificent people like harry. it kind of blows louis away that someone would _approach_ him, let alone bargain him into acquaintanceship in a way that didn't feel forced or pushy. louis doesn't know a real term for that kind of selflessness, but he doesn't think magnificent quite fits that scope.

 

_(maybe harry is a superhero.)_

  

-

 

the bakery is filled with sweet aromas and the scent of various teas. louis inhales the warm air like he's suffocating because it revives his lost sense of mind and reminds him of better times.

 

"it's really nice in here," louis says quietly, looking around. "sort of like a little safe haven of delicious food."

 

"isn't it?" harry replies happily, eyes scanning over the rows and rows of fluffy pastries and breads. "my dad told me i didn't have to work if i didn't want to, but i absolutely could not imagine sitting around doing nothing when this place exists."

 

 _didn't have to work if he didn't want to,_ louis thinks wryly. _clearly we come from two different places._

louis wonders what it would feel like to have enough finical security that he didn't have to worry about money.

 

"that came out really badly," harry curses under his breath. "i mean, like... my dad doesn't want me focusing on the wrong things when i'm working on getting into this really prestigious university--"

 

"harry, it's fine," louis says sheepishly, running a hand down his face. "i'm glad you work here because you've graced the world with the wonder of your lemon poppy seed muffins."

 

harry’s shoulders lose their tension and he laughs in obvious relief. louis distantly realizes harry really does thrive off people's opinion of him; he's overly eager to please. bad habit, but louis doesn't have the heart to tell him.

 

in louis' world of villains behind the shadows and bad guys behind every turn, he's never met someone with such a golden, pulsing aura. it's like innocence and goodness and natural happiness all mixed together, and louis begins to wonder if he'd ever experienced that himself.

 

"if you keep giving me all this praise i might get a big head," harry says shyly. "here, take a seat here and i'll get you the tea and muffins. supposed to be working anyway."

 

louis does as he's told and sits in a cute little chair seated around a cute little table. he inspects the napkins--which have a cheerful message of inspiration written on them. louis' napkin says ‘ _never fear the bad things--positivity overcomes the worst evil’._

louis doesn't think positivity could exactly pay off the two hundred pounds he owes, but it's a cute thought to match all the _cute cute cute_ in the bakery.

 

it's kind of strange--louis doesn't even _like_ cute things. this whole place screams _happy_ and _rainbows_ and _goodness_ and louis feels so out of place with his _gloom_ and _thunderstorms_ and _shame._

he kind of wants to bolt out of the door.

 

except harry is already returning with two muffins and two steaming cups of tea and a wide grin on his wide mouth. louis slumps in his seat a bit and gives a half smile back.

 

"barbara said it's unlimited muffin day," harry says happily. "now it's an all-you-can-eat."

 

he hands louis another muffin and one of the steaming cups. louis goes straight for the tea because he's a bit of a tea _fanatic_ and he almost never has enough money for this kind of fancy tea. he takes a large sip despite the scalding heat and louis practically melts in his seat.

 

it's _exactly_ how louis likes it--extra honey with a sprinkle of sugar.

 

he wonders how harry guessed so accurately without asking.

 

"now to seriousness," harry says, sliding into the seat opposite louis. "i'll remain completely anonymous if you need me to report something to the police, or need a phone call to any family, or if you need a place to stay..."

 

"it was a bar fight," louis says automatically. the lies come _so_ easily these days. "i got the shit beat out of me--obviously--and that scene you saw in the alleyway... er, i was really upset i lost my job."

 

"i'm so sorry," harry says sincerely, his big doe-eyes filled with remorse. he looks like louis just told him his aunt passed away. "i can see if barbara needs an extra hand, or if you need money to pay rent or something i can gladly take care of it--"

 

"no, no," louis shakes his head. "i can't take free muffins with tea _and_ ask for more favors. you've done more for me than anyone has in a long time."

 

louis really doesn't mean for it to come out as emotionally as it does because that makes this situation so much more _uncomfortable,_ but it does and louis feels like he's going to die of embarrassment before nick ever gets his hands on him.

 

"aw louis," harry says thickly, his eyes glistening in an odd way, "you need to hang around better people if my muffins and tea are the nicest thing someone's ever done for you."

 

"that's the truth," louis mutters under his breath. he takes another drink of the hot liquid and lets it scald his throat so he doesn't have to say anything else.

 

an awkward silence falls between them that neither know how to break. harry stares at louis with all this _sorrow_ and louis picks at his muffin. harry wants to help and louis just wants to pay a visit to his old friend and worst enemy.

 

it's kind of sad that this lovely boy is so _eager_ to help louis when the only person who can help louis is louis. and frankly, louis doesn't want to help louis because that's _addiction--_ it strips away all sense of self and drives people to wild extremes.

 

but harry doesn't see louis as an addict wrapped up in a cocoon of issues. he hasn't seen louis when the withdrawal becomes too much, he hasn't seen louis driven mad with the longing, and he hasn't seen louis brought to his knees just for a _gram_ of the shit that's gotten him here.

 

and maybe that's why louis likes harry--because harry can see louis as _louis_. he can see the louis that louis wishes he could see when he looks in the mirror.

 

louis takes another sip of tea to burn those thoughts away.

 

"we don't have to talk about that kind of stuff," harry says softly. "small talk is nice too."

 

"yeah," louis echoes, "small talk works."

 

"well, for starters i should tell you i'm england's best _scrabble_ player," harry says shyly, eyeing louis from underneath his thick eyelashes. "mum says it's quite a talent."

 

" _scrabble,_ huh?" louis sighs. "well that's one more talent than i have."

 

"come _on,"_ harry huffs, pushing louis' shoulder. "you _have_ talents, you're just too lazy to try and think of them. really, you shouldn't be a conversationist."

 

"if that's a thing, I'll make sure i stay far from it," louis replies, playing with his sleeve. he doesn't meet harry's curious gaze. "but yeah, i'm pretty talentless. well, unless you count getting myself into trouble."

 

"trouble is exciting," harry nods like he's encouraging louis to spew more of his _admirable_ talents. "trouble is... uh..."

 

"let's not lie to ourselves now," louis says wryly, cutting harry off. "here, if it makes you happy... i used to play football. i wasn't too bad."

 

"knew it!" harry says triumphantly, his eyes glimmering. louis thinks it's lucky harry doesn't play poker because he's terrible at hiding his emotions. "people like you always have talents."

 

"people like me?"

 

"yeah, you know," harry shrugs, "the extraordinary kind."

 

"come off it harry," louis rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "you don't know me. not really."

 

"it doesn't matter," harry says persistently. "i have a good people sense."

 

louis really wants to scream at harry, to tell him how _blind_ he really is, but that firm belief in harry's eyes stops him from uttering a word. harry is _so_ sure of louis' moral character, and in a way it feels like lying because he's the opposite of what harry thinks he is.

 

it's a bit sad, really. how louis' life has just become one long chain of lies.

 

"if you insist," louis sighs, which makes harry smile even more broadly, and louis briefly thinks the lie is worth it if it makes harry so happy.

 

they talk for about twenty more minutes--well, it's mostly harry talking and louis listening (not that louis minds at all) before harry has to return for work. he looks apologetic and asks louis about a thousand more times if he needs anything else, but louis just shakes him off with a small half-smile.

 

"will you come back?" harry asks earnestly, his eyes wide and pleading. "maybe when things settle down with you?"

 

"yeah, maybe," louis says with a small smile. "thanks again."

 

"you're welcome, louis," harry smiles again (he does in excess but louis finds himself not minding at all). "hey! take a muffin to go!"

 

he rushes over and stuffs a muffin wrapped in another napkin into louis' hand, gives him a quick wink, and dashes back to the bakery where a woman is insistently calling his name.

 

the last view of harry that louis gets is his wild curly hair and long leans legs.

 

and that's probably the last time louis'll ever see harry. it's not because louis doesn't _like_ harry or because he can't visit him--no, those are insubstantial problems. people like louis can't stay friends with people like harry. just like the dark and the light can't coexist, someone as flawed as louis couldn't hang around someone as innocent as harry without some of his issues bleeding into harry, and the last thing louis would _ever_ want would be to have harry get hurt because of him.

 

that's _that_.

 

louis feels a tad sorry about the departure, but it isn't anything he can't fix.

 

so he turns out of the bakery, steps back outside, and begins the long walk back to his car. louis feels heavy and clouded again--a feeling that had dissipated in the last forty minutes--and he honestly just wants to get back with zayn and away from temptations he'll never turn into reality.

 

louis sticks his hands deep in his pockets as he walks, and his probing touch is met with the feel of a tiny plastic ziplock. louis fingers it for a moment in confusion, then remembers it's stan's gram he gave to louis earlier. the realization makes louis falter in his steps--he completely forgot he had it on him.

 

 _zayn won't be expecting me back until later,_ louis thinks quickly, checking his watch. _that gives me a good three hours before he starts to worry._

louis has been so stressed out lately, and he's gone almost a week without taking a hit. he has an afternoon filled with nothing to do, a free gram in his pocket, and a car parked out of sight from roaming eyes---it's almost too perfect an opportunity to miss.

 

 _'meeting stan today, see you later zayn. maybe drinks tonight?'_ louis sends the text just as he rounds the corner to the car, his heart pounding and his fingers shaking. an electric thrill is pulsing through his veins because his body knows it's finally going to get what it's been craving for a week--

 

louis opens the door, throws himself into the front seat, and begins work.

 

he lays out a magazine he'd been reading on the dashboard as flat as he possibly can. next the little baggie comes out of his pocket, and he's sprinkling white powder all over the glossy cover. louis pulls out his wallet, removes his credit card, and splits the stuff into two even lines with an expert hand.

 

he stares at the cocaine, and takes a heavy breath.

 

 _harry thinks you're an extraordinary person,_ louis thinks wryly. _how extraordinary do you feel right now?_

 

the question burns at louis' throat and makes him feel something like pity--and louis doesn't like pity. if he stopped to regret every single mistake he's ever made, louis would be in a permanent state of sorrow over shit that's already happened.

 

he closes one nostril with his finger, closes his eyes, and inhales.

 

_how extraordinary do you feel?_

_-_

 by time louis makes it home, it's almost nightfall.

 

he's so tired he feels like he could collapse any minute. his body aches, his mind aches, and his emotions are burnt-out. louis barely makes it up the stairs to his shared flat, between the sharp breathing pains and his fatigue.

 

louis pushes open the flat door once he gets there, and finds zayn cooking in the kitchen. he's got music on and he's dancing and singing in an apron that says " _kiss me, i'm a chef."_ louis could say something witty about this situation--it's practically _begging_ to be made fun of--but he's too tired to piece together a coherent thought.

 

instead, louis collapses onto the sofa with a yawn and a quick, "hey mate."

 

zayn turns around, slightly surprised, then clicks off the music.

 

"so louis finally figures out where home is," he says, a cool bite to his voice. "skipping out a regular thing now?"

 

"no _mum,"_ louis says, rolling his eyes. "i texted you that i was going to come home late."

 

"you're three hours late, louis," zayn says sharply. "look, we've been best friends for a long time, so i fancy myself quite familiar with you. and you're acting really strange louis-- _getting into bar fights?_ since when do you go to _bars?_ you didn't come out after your shower last night to talk to me, and you've never done that unless you're mad at me. and then there's all this early-morning skipping out and not returning until fucking _midnight!"_

"first of all, it's five o'clock," louis snaps back, "and secondly, it frankly isn't any of your concern what i spend my days doing! if it was something you had to know, i'd tell you, zayn!"

 

"something tells me you wouldn't," zayn cuts back, his eyes softening a bit. "just-- _louis._ if something is wrong, you can tell me. i've been here since _day one."_

 

he's staring at louis with this imploring sincerity and loyalty written all over his face.

 

and louis-- _louis is so close to giving in and telling zayn._ he briefly lets himself wonder how nice it would feel to have someone on his side, especially someone who wouldn't judge or share his secret. zayn wouldn't be _happy_ of course, but zayn would be there to help louis fix it.

 

but the last part is what keeps louis from bursting out of his seams-- _zayn would be there to help louis fix it_. without a doubt, zayn would sign him up for some rehab shit or a support group and louis absolutely couldn't stand that. plus he'd keep constant tabs on louis to ensure he didn't get any more, or sneak off to use with one of his friends.

 

zayn would defeat louis' villain, but he'd take louis with him.

 

so really, louis can't tell zayn because he's an _addict._ he can't survive without the one thing that's killing him, horrible paradox or not. without the feeling of being _something_ pulsing through his veins, louis doesn't know how to define himself.

 

so louis builds up the walls again, and does what he knows best.

 

_he lies._

"alright zayn," louis sighs heavily, avoiding zayn’s stare like an embarrassed kid who just got caught doing something bad. "i've got a friend who's having some issues, and i've been helping him get sorted. we had an argument last night and that's how my face ended up like this, but it wasn't really anything. he apologized and took me out for lunch and back to his house for some FIFA, and i guess i just lost track of time."

 

zayn's face relaxes completely, and a smile breaks across his face.

 

"well _shit_ louis, you could've just told me!" he laughs, shaking his head. "you had me all worried!"

 

"you have the tendency to do that," louis rolls his eyes and grins half-heartedly. _zayn accepts his lies so easily it feels like a game._ "you're more of a mum to me than my _mum_ is."

 

"someone's got to look after you, kiddo," zayn says, turning back to the stove. "anyway, i made your favorite stir fry as a treat and i haven’t burned it yet. i was worried there for a minute you wouldn’t come home in time to enjoy it.”

 

"considering the dishes you make, i'm pleasantly impressed," louis replies, watching zayn work on the meal from the sofa. "but i'm afraid if you don't hurry with your masterpiece of a meal, i'll fall asleep before it's even served."

 

"you will not!" zayn says indignantly. "i worked way too hard on this for you to skip out. plus you look dead on your feet--when's the last time you had a proper meal?"

 

the question startles louis--he didn't even realize his serious hunger until zayn mentions it. louis hasn't eaten a full meal in a day and a half, partly from stress, partly from being overly-busy and partly from the appetite effects of _the villain._

"too long, i suppose," louis admits with a sign. "that stuff smells amazing though--my stomach is practically caving in on itself."

 

zayn makes a disapproving noise from the kitchen, louis calls him a mum again, and for a moment it feels all _normal._

the stir-fry zayn ends up serving is mediocre at best, but louis scarves heaps of the sticky rice into his mouth. he probably shouldn't look so excited about eating it because zayn glows with confidence like he just made a five-star dish, but louis is too busy eating to comment.

 

"after you eat your weight in stir-fry, i want to watch the newest episode of _impractical jokers_ with you," zayn says, watching louis overfeed himself with a mild look of interest on his face. "i've been waiting since last night, and i won't wait any longer."

 

louis rolls his eyes but agrees to stay up with zayn-- _after he has one more bowl of stir-fry, of course._

so they end up watching _impractical jokers_ well into the midnight hours except it turns wild when zayn pulls out the beers and they drink themselves a little more silly than they want to. spurred on by pure exhaustion and alcohol, louis falls into a state of straight mania where he laughs for a solid hour and zayn--being slightly drunker than louis was—finds the whole situation unbearably funny and nearly passes out from hysteric laughter.

 

now zayn is snoring on the couch and louis isn't much better off.

 

the only thing that keeps him from sleeping right next to zayn is the little baggie in his pocket. louis has to hide the remains of the gram before morning--the last thing he needs is for zayn to wake up and see _the villain_ hanging out of louis' pocket.

 

in his drunken haze, louis drags himself to his bedroom and tears off his hoodie. the little baggie falls to the bed along with something heavy and aromatic.

 

louis ignores the second item, and tucks the baggie underneath the spare floorboard behind his dresser. he strips into just his boxers, pulls back his duvet, is just about to slip into bed--

 

except something falls to the floor with a little _thud_ , and despite louis' drunken, worn-out mind, he is curious enough to bend down for it.

 

the thing quickly crumbles in his hand, and louis recognizes the muffin harry sent with him hours ago. he smiles to himself subconsciously, staring at the napkin is still wrapped around the sticky bread--except there's something written on it, something louis didn't realize before--

 

he tears it away and angles it towards the thin ribbon of moonlight filtering into his room. louis is able to make out a messy scrawl with a few numbers underneath it:

 

_here's a muffin for tomorrow--trust me, they're just as good warmed up! if you need any more (or just want to talk) give me a ring. love, harry :)_

louis stares at the note, at the _love, harry_ part, at his phone number scribbled underneath. he stares at it and feels like a warm balloon is expanding in his chest, forcing  all the negative feelings louis' felt all day to sink to the bottom of his consciousness.

 

_love, harry._

louis falls asleep with it clutched to his chest.

 

-

 

the rest of the week passes nicely, louis supposes.

 

if you aren't _him._

louis has several more breakdowns, doesn't sleep, and becomes overwhelmingly paranoid. he sees nick everywhere in the streets and it sets his nerves ablaze--louis shakes and cries and can’t breathe and all the while he feels ridiculous for being such a _coward._ he should be handling this much better than he is--after all, this is what louis deserves.

 

what makes it unbearable is the fact zayn isn't even there to comfort him. he left on monday to visit his family back home, and he'll be gone for a week--long enough time for louis to be dead in the back of an alleyway. his last support, his last comfort, his last _friend_ is gone, and louis doesn't know how to handle it.

 

_he truly begins to understand the phrase "alone."_

the afternoon before the meet up is spent in a state of utter panic.

 

louis chews his nails down to their beds, pulls at his hair, eats compulsively, and bites his lips raw. he dials harry's number into his phone, stares at the green _call_ button for a long time, then hangs up. louis does it over and over again, each time with a slipping confidence in his ability to _actually_ ring harry.

 

he doesn't end up doing it. he doesn't have the courage.

 

louis is out of time and out of options. now the only thing he's left to do is accept his fate.

 

he dresses very slowly that evening, careful not to touch his still-tender ribs, which is completely pointless considering they'll be a lot worse off in a few hours. louis picks out his favorite jumper and favorite pair of jeans which is also ridiculous considering he’s dressing nicely to get the shit beat out of him. it’s another comedic play on irony, except it’s funny to everyone except louis.

 

he’s going to be dead tonight.

_twenty minutes till the meeting._

he strolls around the flat, saying goodbye to various things. he mentally says goodbye to the girls and his mum and his dad and even _zayn._ louis feels a sense of calm as he does it, like he's letting out birds from a cage and watching them fly free.

 

louis only cries twice.

 

_five minutes._

he grabs his beanie and his keys, searching for any last thing he might've missed. louis' eyes catch sight of harry's note, still lying on the table. he folds it carefully and slips it into the breast pocket of his jacket with a small, sad smile.

 

_louis realizes that no one has ever written him a note signed with their love because they actually care about him._

it’s stupid and maybe louis isn’t in his right mind, but it gives him some sort of comfort. no one is here right now to make this easier—zayn is gone and his family hates him and his other best friend is off making a life for himself. louis doesn’t necessarily think he would want anyone to know about his situation right now, either because they’d probably tell him that it’ll be okay or some shit which is ridiculously far from the truth. nothing is okay, but louis has a note signed with harry’s love and a little smiley face and he supposes that’ll have to do.

 

and that's how louis leaves his flat--harry's messy signature resting against his heartbeat, his emotions burnt out and his mind empty and ready for the hour ahead.

 

_let the game begin._

-

 

the alleyway isn't empty when louis finally pulls up.

 

he sees the white car already parked in its usual spot. he sees the two men who left the marks all over his body last time. and of course--he sees the designer of his catastrophe, lounged across the hood of the car with sunglasses covering his eyes.

 

nick looks totally uninterested in louis' arrival-- _bored almost._

 

 _louis gets out of his car before fear immobilizes him._  

 

"well, well, well," nick drawls, pushing his sunglasses into his hair so he can see louis. "tell me tomlinson, is this going to be a nice meeting or an unpleasant one?"

 

"for me or you?" louis asks testily, feeling the last of his resilience spark in his bloodstream. "well, i don't know grimshaw, _you tell me."_

"someone is feeling awfully confident for a man who owes me two hundred pounds," nick says venomously, "especially for one who failed to bring it to me _again._ tsk, tsk tomlinson..."

 

he begins to circle louis like a shark inspecting its prey, looking for signs of weakness. louis refuses to give him that small pleasure though; he looks straight ahead and doesn't move a muscle.

 

"i told you that you'd regret not bringing me what you owe," nick whispers into his ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down louis' spine. "shame, really... you're such a handsome lad without all those bruises on your pretty face."

 

nick brings a hand up and traces the remnants of louis' injuries with an airy touch. he stares intently at louis' face, his greedy eyes sucking in every last detail.

 

"anything to say, then?" nick says loudly enough for everyone to hear. "any sniveling excuses for why you can't follow up your _simple_ end of the deal?"

 

"none at all," louis says, and he sounds a lot braver than he actually feels.

 

"well then, it seems like mr. tomlinson will be of no use to us from here on out," nick says, turning on heel and folding his arms behind his back. "let's say our-- _ah--_ goodbyes."

 

nick steps back into the shadows, a small smile on his lips.

 

the two men step forward dutifully, except louis is ready for the initial attack--he sidesteps the first man reaching out for him and gives him a good elbow to the chest. he grunts, folding over and gripping his sides.

 

except louis isn't so lucky with the second one.

 

he catches louis' arm and twists it until louis is sure the bones will fracture into two. he lets out an ear-splitting scream as the pain races through his whole body, like a flame of raging agony, hungry for louis' flesh.

 

a hand is clamped over his mouth and he's kneed in the back. louis lurches forward and falls to his hands pitifully, his damp hair clinging to his forehead.

 

it's a setback for sure, but louis has always been light and agile. fueled on by the adrenaline pumping through his veins in ridiculous amounts, he slips through the second man's leg and dodges out of reach from the first. louis looks around wildly, seeking an exit--but nick's car is parked strategically in front of the open end of the street, and the other side offers nothing but a brick wall.

 

louis is stuck with no one close enough to help.

 

he backs up slowly, trying to anticipate the two men's next move--their faces remain impressively blank and emotionless, which makes it nearly impossible for louis to guess what's going through their minds. this fight is between two incredibly built fighters trained for this situation against one slim kid with nerves so frayed it's a miracle he hasn't lost it yet.

 

the odds never really were in louis' favor.

 

he puts up a valiant fight, of course--outrunning the two men for a considerable amount of time before he loses his footing and crashes onto the concrete. even brought to the ground, louis bites and kicks and squirms and yells curses furiously, but again--he can only do so much.

 

the men toy with him a bit--taking their time in delivering carefully-placed blows to the newly healed areas of louis' ravaged body. the pain explodes through him like shards of shrapnel; he can't think when all this agony is devouring all his senses and eating away at his awareness because all he can focus on is escaping the bite of torture--

 

 _this is it,_ louis thinks numbly. he looks up at the sky in intermingled despair and relief--he can't figure out which one quite yet--and notices that it's blood red. streaks of purple tangle with the brilliant oranges and yellows of a dying day. and louis--louis is underneath it all, ready to die along with the fading light.

 

_louis never took enough time to appreciate how truly beautiful the sunset is._

"make it quick," nick calls from the background except his voice is distant and far off, like he’s standing at the opposite end of a football pitch. “and don't be messy."

 

a hard elbow is brought to the back of louis' head with the force of a club, and he flies face-first onto the ground. rocks and glass and dirt lay heavy on his lips as his brain reels from the blow.

 

louis can't see anything really--it's all white and soft and pretty and warm. it reminds him of the bakery, of the day he spent with harry, of lemon poppy seed muffins and hot tea, of laughs and smiles and the feeling of not being _alone._

louis wishes harry were here with him to make this a little bit easier. no one deserves to die like this.

 

 _harry still thinks you're extraordinary,_ louis thinks in a daze, eyes relaxing slowly. _that's enough for now._

his phone is on his side. louis feels it pressing into his thigh--he quickly pictures harry's number open on the screen and wishes he would've gotten the courage to call harry while he still had time, while he still had an ounce of life in his dying body--

 

_(the end.)_

_-_

when louis was young, his mum used to build forts made out of sheets and pillows for louis to play in. he'd always insist him mum came in too--because she was his only friend then, and that's what friends _do_. his mum would laugh and tell him that she was getting much too old for that sort of thing, but she never said no.

 

then they'd crawl into the fort, and louis would be cast under the spell of magic. in reality he was underneath a few sheets and pillows in the middle of his living room, but in his imagination he was everything and anything he wanted to be. louis used to make his mum bring a torch in and they'd sit on the floor and escape into a world far away from the living room of a shabby little house on villanelle drive.

 

that gap between reality and dreams is often a small one, and louis has only experienced it twice: when he was young and playing in that fort with his mum, and right now.

 

louis lying in a hospital bed far away from villanelle drive. now louis is stuck in that subspace between what's real and what's eternal, except he isn’t seven and he isn’t underneath pillows and sheets.

 

it takes him days to stir out of it. the nurses come in a lot and poke louis with different odds and ends, the doctors run all these tests on him, and some unrecognizable people run their hands over his face and talk to him a lot. louis can feel it, but he can't really _understand it._

his doesn't have conscious awareness of his body yet--it's almost like louis' scope of cognition is refined to this tiny box of basic perception which easily falls prey to hallucinations and false memories. louis has a hard time trying to discern the two in his waking hours.

 

_green eyes make frequent appearances._

_-_

 

on the fifth day, louis finally wakes up.

 

he opens his eyes a fraction of an inch and lets out a little moan of discomfort. louis is completely disoriented, utterly confused, and in an unbelievable amount of pain, but he's _alive._ his mind has a hard time coming to terms with that fact, considering he feels like he's been resurrected from the dead.

 

"louis?"

 

a face swims into view. it's a face louis thinks he recognizes--green eyes and curly hair and pretty pink lips.

 

 _harry_.

 

"m'here," he mumbles distantly. "what’s going on--?"

 

"shh, you're not allowed to ask questions," harry says gently, pressing a finger to louis' lips. his big eyes are glimmering, his voice is a bit quivery, and his cheeks are red-- _he's been crying._ "you'll get worked up and the nurses will run in here and shoo me out."

 

"don't go," louis sighs feebly. his body is just so achy all over. he lets his head roll against his shoulder as sleep caresses his consciousness once again. "harry, _stay."_

there's a large, warm hand squeezing his own. louis registers the pressure faintly--he's falling back into darkness' arms--

 

" _i'll be here when you wake up, louis."_

-

 

by the end of the week, louis is finally fully conscious and ready for answers.

 

he's propped up on a pillow, sipping shitty hospital soup and watching reruns of _impractical jokers._ louis really wishes zayn was with him though--the show is so much more funny when there's someone to laugh with.

 

zayn is probably here at the hospital by now—louis sort of remembers seeing him somewhere in the haze of pain medications but he can’t be sure because he’s seen lots of things that surely can’t be real. it’s frustrating not being able to know what really happened, but louis is persistent and he’ll get his answers one way or another.

 

for now though, he’s stuck watching _impractical jokers_ and eating soup that tastes like it was made from animal remains.

 

"hello louis," a soft feminine voice says from the doorway. "you have a visitor. are you ready?"

 

louis turns to peer at her, and spots wild curls over her shoulder. he smiles softly.

 

"yeah. yeah, i am."

 

she steps back and harry steps forward, a wide grin on his winter-brushed cheeks. he has a basket in his arms and a board game in the other-- _louis recognizes scrabble._

"well hi," louis says shyly. he fumbles with his sheets. "good to see you, harry."

 

"you too," he grins, setting his stuff on louis' bedside. harry shakes off his coat and runs a hand through his windblown hair. "you're looking much better, by the way. less, er... _purple."_

louis hadn't thought about that yet--he didn't ask anyone for a mirror so he could inspect his injuries.

 

 _he doesn't want to either_.

 

"can't wait for a time where we can meet and i haven't got the shit beat out of me," louis sighs, probing his unshaven face. "this is getting to be pretty embarrassing."

 

"bruises suit you," harry nods seriously. "really bring out your eyes."

 

and the statement is so ridiculous that louis can't help but laugh--which quickly turns into a gasp of pain because his ribs feel like they've been cracked open.

 

"shit, you're not supposed to laugh," harry curses, reaching forward to adjust the brace on louis' midsection. "the nurse keeps yelling at me because i keep letting you toss in your sleep, or i try to sneak you in some decent food... she's like a nazi."

 

"you've been here multiple days?" louis asks, slightly surprised. "er-- _how?"_

 

"yeah i've been here since this thing started, louis," harry shrugs. "you were the one that called me the night this happened. i didn't hear anything except muffled screams, so i dialed the police. it was probably the scariest thing ever, louis--don't you do that to me again—“

 

harry trails off and shakes his head like he's trying to clear the memory.  louis has no idea what to say.

 

"oh," he murmurs, clearly confused. "well... right. where's zayn?"

 

"zayn's been in here on spare time," harry answers, reaching for the basket of muffins. he gets them one each and takes a big bite before finishing his sentence. "he's helping the police catch the people who did this to you.”

 

louis' stomach drops like a rock at the thought of zayn hunting nick, but he's too overwhelmed with the drowsing effects of the pain medication and the contentment of being with harry to care.

 

"we'll piece this together in time, louis," harry continues with a reassuring smile. "for now, i brought you lemon poppy seed muffins and scrabble to help pass the time."

 

louis grants him a grin, actually _smiles,_ and it feels so foreign his face hurts.

 

_but not the bad kind of pain. it's the kind of pain that makes louis feel alive._

"louis," harry says slowly, brows knitted and lips arched in thought, "can i ask you a question?"

 

"sure," louis shrugs, pushing a button on his hospital bed so it raises him up to eye-level. he doesn’t like the feeling of harry looking down on him, but that seems to happen a lot considering their size difference.

 

"you've got these, like, _lines_ etched between your eyebrows," harry says slowly, fiddling with his sleeve. "you know, the kind people get when they're stressed or aged or whatever."

 

"so are you trying to say i'm old?" louis quirks his eyebrow. "i'm only twenty-one. that must seem _ancient_ to your--what--seventeen years?"

 

"nineteen," harry corrects with a soft, sad smile. he sighs and picks at his fingernails before continuing, like he's having trouble piecing together his thoughts. "but louis, i was watching you sleep, and you look so... _different._ like when you're awake, you look more grey and worn-out and--"

 

he trails off hopelessly, raising his big doe-eyes to louis' in anxiousness.

 

"not quite understanding what you're getting at with this," louis says. "so i'm colorless and old with early signs of wrinkles? is this some reverse psychology?"

 

"no, no," harry chuckles humorlessly. "god, i'm doing a bad job of explaining this. it's just... i see these little breakthroughs with you, like when you sleep or laugh-- i mean _really_ laugh--and it's like the sun shining through the clouds. except the next minute i look into the sky, darkness swallows it whole again."

 

louis doesn't say anything. harry tries to avoid any eye contact. the sound of beeping machines fill the empty riffs of the conversation for a few minutes, adding to the uncomfortable tension in the room.

 

suddenly louis is glad the door is closed so he knows people aren't listening in on this.

 

"louis,"' harry tries again, except this time his voice is caught in his throat. "each time i've talked to you, you're either hurt or crying or in some state of distress....and even though it isn't my business to know... _well, i care._ we can be acquaintances or friends or-- _fuck, i sound dumb right now."_

harry buries his face in his hands and lets them run down his supple, young skin. louis would quite like to touch that skin, he figures, because harry is just so _fresh_ and _pretty_ and _youthful._

"there’s a lot of things you won't ever understand," louis sighs when he finally responds. "and even if you did, it's an issue you can't fix, you know? this is a louis problem, and obviously louis isn't doing a too good of a job in handling it, but that's _his_ thing. you just have to accept it and move on."

 

"just promise you won't disappear again once you get better," harry pleads earnestly. "i won't _try_ to understand if you don't want me to, but you're not allowed to skip out on me."

 

"sounds fair enough," louis shrugs.

 

"you jump, i jump," harry says with that familiar glimmer in his eye. "right jack?"

 

"right rose," louis gives harry a fond smile and takes a nibble out of his muffin. "hey, next time you come to the hospital, can you bring _titanic_? i'm sure this bed can fit two, plus its lonely sitting here watching reruns of _impractical jokers.”_

 

"sounds like a date," harry grins broadly before realizing what he said. the smile falters and his cheeks bloom a bright, lovely red. "well not like _that--_ i meant like a plan or something--"

 

"harry," louis reaches forward and puts his finger on the soft, pink flesh of harry's lips. " _shh._ i'll call the nurses in here and make them take you out if you don't stop your prattling. _i know what you meant, you dork."_

louis pulls his finger back and runs his hands through harry's thick curls as an afterthought just because he can and quite frankly, he's always wanted to. it's almost worth it when harry's cheeks flame up again.

 

it all feels sweet and dreamy and golden around the edges, having harry with him. he is such a _warm_ person with such a _warm_ personality--bright eyes to match bright smiles and sloppy hair to match sloppy laughs. louis’ never really _liked_ someone, but he thinks he'd like to get to know the feeling if it means spending time with harry.

 

 

_louis doesn't know what this is, but he doesn't want to let it go._

-

 

the last days louis spends in the hospital aren't nearly as pleasant.

 

he begins to get weaned off pain medication, which puts him in a shitty mood. combine that with the creeping signs of withdraw enveloping louis' mind, and the result is an extremely irritable, grouchy louis with an unseasonably bad temper and random bouts of anxiety.

 

louis has snapped at his nurse so many times that he's sure she'll never like him. he even lashed out at zayn, which turned into a heated yelling match about carelessness on louis' part and intrusiveness on zayn's end. eventually, zayn was thrown out of louis' room with fire in his eyes and his chest heaving in anger.

 

the only person louis hasn't lashed out on is harry, but he hasn't exactly been pleasant either. when harry comes with _titanic_ and more muffins, louis isn't nearly as warm as he previously was, and doesn't make any attempts at conversation. he still lets harry curl up in the hospital bed with him because it's impossibly large and cold, plus there aren't any chairs comfortable enough for a long movie like titanic.

 

( _maybe louis softens up a bit at the sight of harry curled against his shoulder, but then again maybe not.)_

_(but in reality, he definitely does.)_

 

louis just can't _help_ it--harry's like an overgrown weed with his lanky arms and legs (in fact, he has quite some trouble fitting his excess limbs into a bed designated for louis' smaller build) but he has the mild demeanor to match his sweet features. for example, his big eyes swallow up nearly every other feature of his face, minus his bow-shaped, sinfully plump pink lips.

 

yes, _those_ definitely don't match harry's sweet innocence.

 

so louis ends up watching harry and harry ends up watching the movie. he practically _bawls_ when it's over, and louis _could_ be annoyed--harry has his snot and tears all over louis' hospital gown--but he just can't because it's _harry._

this kid has turned louis into one big conflicting paradox.

 

( _he doesn't know what this new feeling is, but it's addicting.)_

_-_

 

the day louis leaves from the hospital is both a relief for the staff--who are extremely annoyed with him by now--and for louis, who feels extremely imprisoned in this immaculate jail cell. he doesn't look twice as zayn wheels him out of the front doors, his bag of medication and wraps for his ribs sitting on his lap--in fact, louis gives them all a one-fingered salute, which zayn hisses at him for.

 

louis is back to being the reckless kid, and zayn is back to being the reprimanding mum.

 

that's when you _know_ louis is better.

 

"... god louis," zayn mutters as he helps a wincing louis into the car, "you're so... _impulsive_ at times. what did you flip the hospital off for?"

 

"dunno," louis shrugs with a grin. "gotta give 'em hell, i suppose. that's my job."

 

"you give everyone hell," zayn rolls his eyes, buckling louis' seatbelt and walking around to his passenger seat. "it's a wonder why everyone loves you, especially that _harry."_

"met him, you did?"

 

"yeah," zayn answers. "nice kid, i guess. talks about you a lot, though. and he wouldn't leave your bedside when you first came. how do you know him anyway?"

 

"bit of a long story," louis says with interest. "but you said harry was with me... did he, you know, _stay_ overnight?"

 

"louis, the kid fell asleep with his hand wrapped around yours," zayn laughs. "either you've got a little admirer or you're not telling me something here."

 

now that is something louis definitely _does not_ remember.

 

"harry's just a friend," louis brushes it off with a shake of his head. "anyway, i wanna know about other things. i don't remember hardly anything past the accident."

 

"yeah, i think we both need answers," zayn says, and this time his voice holds a sharper tone. "louis, you're definitely _not_ getting out of this one."

 

"figured so much," louis sighs. "take me out to lunch and we can have a nice meal with a nice side of tale-swapping, all right?"

 

zayn nods and pulls out of the hospital car park, leaving louis to think in silence.    

 

in the muddled mess of louis' mind, harry's face comes up a lot--his pretty eyes and pretty skin and pretty lips and pretty personality. louis has a hard time _not_ thinking about him these days, especially since harry spent his week with louis in a hospital watching him fall in and out of drug-induced sleep without ever leaving his bedside. it's a thought that makes louis feel sort of warm and fuzzy around the edges, like he's been sitting in front of a fire after coming inside. it's the feeling right before sleep where everything is blurry and safe and quiet and open.

 

louis wishes he could be the same type of person for harry.

 

he wishes he could be the same type of person for _anyone_.

 

louis is selfish and louis is lonely and louis is an addict. louis is everything he grew up hating, and nothing he ever thought he could be. louis can't be anything to anybody until he figures himself out because how can another person think highly of him when he can't even stand himself?

 

the first step to fixing louis’ mess is obvious--he has to give up the cocaine.

 

and it isn't like louis hasn't tried to get clean beforebecause _of course he has._ louis would love to be healthy and happy and free of the black cloud hanging over his head, but addiction doesn't work that way. addiction isn't something you wake up from with an instant cure. addiction doesn't have a heart; it doesn't care if it's the thing killing you. addiction knows no mercy.

 

louis will make it about a week, and then he can't take the feeling of overwhelming _dependency_ coursing through his veins. it's a voice that grows louder and louder in his head, making everything else seem irrelevant and peripheral and louis just doesn't have anything strong enough to drown out that kind of noise. he submits until the demon slinks back into the recesses of his mind and his moral comes back out, telling him how _shitty_ he is and how he doesn't deserve a damn _thing_ because he's reduced to a mess dependent on the thing killing him.

 

but louis can try. he _wants_ to try. he wants help though--he can't do this alone.

 

louis will need zayn, but _just_ zayn. zayn will be that voice to drown out all the others. zayn will be the person to liberate those secrets crushing louis. zayn will be strong enough for louis because louis isn't strong enough for himself.

 

it's a huge leap of trust and something louis absolutely dreads, but he can't take all of this anymore especially since harry stepped in his life and showed him what _true_ living is. louis wants to pick up his life where he left off--when he was eighteen and began this whole downwards spiral.

 

louis doesn't remember the feeling of being good enough.

 

( _and he wants it back.)_

 

 -

 

"all right," zayn sighs, crossing his legs expectantly, "I'm ready for the story, louis."

 

they're sitting in a cheap cafe with two cups of steaming tea between them. zayn ordered a greasy hamburger and louis got a salad--partially because his stomach isn't ready for that heavy food after the light fare in the hospital.

 

louis gulps. he feels his heart in his chest and every fiber of his being telling him _no, don't do it!_ he hears the little demon in the back of his mind whispering, reminding him of all the things he'll lose once zayn knows, reminding him how good it feels to lose himself in a high instead of living in the cracked spaces of reality--

 

"zayn," louis voice quavers dangerously. "i need to apologize firstly for everything i've done and everything i've put you through, but i think i'm ready to tell you..."

 

louis breathes slowly, eyes closed. zayn stares at him, completely bewildered.

 

"when i was eighteen, i did some things i regret," louis whispers miserably, "you remember that time--i was always off partying and drinking and messing around with drugs. one of those drugs was cocaine, zayn."

 

zayn's face is still confused; he doesn't get it. he doesn't know what's going on because he would never expect _his_ best friend to do something like try cocaine. it makes the whole thing that much harder for louis.

 

louis sort of wishes nick would've done a proper job of it back in the alley.

 

"it started as a monthly thing, then i did it at every party because it felt so fucking _good,"_ louis doesn't meet zayn's gaze. he can't. "everyone had their lives planned out and they were all going places except _me._ itwasn't any big secret that i was always shit at school, but i was eighteen and i didn't have art like you, or music like niall. i didn't have any plans and it freaked me out so i made myself forget those things underneath the rush of a high.

 

"that was uni though," zayn says, brows furrowed in agitation. he's looking at louis with a mixture of disbelief and utter confusion. "right? you don’t still do it now.”

 

“i do zayn,” louis shakes his head in misery. “it hasn’t stopped since i was eighteen.”

 

"you're saying you're addicted to cocaine?" zayn doesn't sound angry. he doesn't sound like he's judging louis. he doesn't even sound disappointed. he's just _confused._ "louis, what the _hell_ is going on--"

 

the phrase rings in louis' head, it's ugly and heavy and coated in black slime.

 

_you're addicted to cocaine._

"yeah," louis replies heavily, burying his face in his hands. "i am. i am, but i don't want to be anymore. i want to be better."

 

louis could cry--he's feeling dangerously close to that point--but he's done enough of that since his life went down the drain. today is the day louis is going to start mending that--it's a day where good things are supposed to fall in place. today is supposed to be the start of all the shattered pieces coming back together.

 

_so why does it feel like louis' world just split down the seams?_

 

his best friend is staring at him, unable to think of anything to say. he looks disgusted, not by louis or by the situation, but by the cocaine, and it's so not fair because louis is the one who invited the villain into his home and he's the one who deserves every ounce of disgust and hate zayn wants to spew out at him. louis thinks that would almost be better than this empty stare because at least he'd know zayn understands what he's done--

 

"that's not possible," zayn laughs nervously. "i would know! you tell me everything, louis."

 

"i used to," he says quietly. "i used to until addiction took a hold of my life and wouldn't let it go."

 

louis raises his gaze to meet and zayn's and doesn't waver. he tries to communicate everything he's feeling into one look so zayn _understands_ how hard this is for him, so zayn takes him seriously and keeps his mind open before he judges louis too soon.

 

zayn finally gets it.

 

"holy shit," he mumbles, covering his mouth with his hand. "louis _holy shit."_

"i know," louis says bitterly. "three years, zayn. three years of this."

 

zayn doesn't know what to say, and louis doesn't feel like speaking. he's tired and sad and kind of just wants to sleep--not just for tonight, but maybe forever. he wants to escape to a place where cocaine doesn't exist and addiction isn't a problem and his best friend isn't staring at him like he doesn't even know who louis is anymore. he wants to escape to a place where everything is simple and pretty and bright and pain, where suffering and violence is extinct.

 

louis wants to escape to a place where he's a better person.

 

"you coming home late, all these injuries, all the money you borrowed from me..." zayn says slowly, piecing it together. "that was the cocaine?"

 

"yeah," louis says in a small voice. "i'll repay you everything i owe, i swear--"

 

zayn cuts him off with an impatient wave of his hand. he's just realized something--

 

"you have a dealer, don't you?" zayn murmurs. he doesn't wait for louis to answer before plowing on. "he's been doing this to you. he's the one that nearly fucking _killed_ you."

 

anger flashes in zayn's eyes. he looks absolutely _livid._

"yeah well," louis sighs heavily, "occupational hazard of being an addict, i guess."

 

the word lies heavy on louis' tongue. he just called himself an _addict,_ a word he'd never really associated with himself verbally because it meant admitting he really had a problem. louis doesn't know if he likes the liberating feeling or resents the crushing reality of the term.

 

"we can press charges!" zayn rages, pounding his fist against the table. "you know what he looks like, don't you? have a name at least? we can--"

 

"zayn, stop," louis says tiredly. he fiddles with his fork. "i don't want to really talk about this, if i'm honest. I just wanted to tell you so i don't feel so alone."

 

"we're going to talk about it, louis!" zayn nearly yells, his face turning red. "my fucking best friend is out snorting lines of cocaine and coming home half-dead! of course we're going to fucking _talk_ about it!"

 

this is exactly what louis dreaded--zayn trying to force the subject between the two of them.

 

"no we are not," louis' eyes are burning through their icy blue irises. "zayn, this is my problem. i'm working on it _by myself._ i don't want you trying to sign me up for support groups or some shit because i swear to _fucking god_ i will leave and never come back, best friends or not."

 

"you're stupid louis," zayn is so angry he's shaking. "you can't expect me to sit back and watch you relapse again and again! people don't get clean by themselves! my cousin was addicted to meth and he’s _dead!”_

"i'm leaving," louis mutters, standing up. his ribs ache in protest. "i'll be back tonight."

 

zayn makes a lunge towards him, grabbing the hem of louis' shirt. he effectively stops in his steps.

 

"you think i'm going to let you snort cocaine or whatever the fuck you do?" zayn is glaring at louis. "i love you so much, louis-- _so fucking much._ i can't let you take your life in your hands like that."

 

"i can do other things that don't involve using," louis says coolly, shoving zayn away from him. "do you _honestly_ think i only go out to get high?"

 

"i seriously don't know with you," zayn breathes heavily. he runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "last week i had my my best friend, and now i have a stranger who gets the _shit_ beat out of him by drug dealers and does cocaine while i'm not around!"

 

"sorry i'm not what you expected," louis hisses, turning on heel. "text me if you need me."

 

he leaves the cafe with his words still hanging, their food untouched, and zayn in the wake of it all.

 

_(do you feel extraordinary, louis?)_

-

 

stan's house is the first place to go when things go wrong.

 

firstly, he offers an endless supply of beer and television. secondly, he doesn't ask questions like why someone shows up on his doorstep or what's going on. and thirdly, he remains one hundred percent confidential, especially when it comes to matters like drugs.

 

louis visits quite frequently.

 

the night after the cafe incident, louis didn't really talk much--he got drunk out of his mind and passed out on stan's disgusting sofa. his phone lay next to his head, lit up with thirty messages from both zayn and harry--which louis would never know because his phone died somewhere in the night.

 

the second day went significantly worse. louis woke up extremely hungover, still desperately in the clutches of withdrawal, and sadness weighed heavy on his shoulders. he tried watching television with stan, tried making conversation, tried _cleaning--_ but nothing could distract him from the temptation all around.

 

stan saw how louis was struggling, and instead of asking to talk about it, stan offered to get high with louis--a significantly less charming proposition, but louis wasn't in his right mind and he didn't really think of the consequences as he said _yes._

the initial feeling of the drug entering his bloodstream is like nothing before. louis felt like electricity pounded through his veins, a white energy that flew him above the highest peak and kept him there, far away from the problems down below. louis was up in this cloud, a place where guilt couldn't touch him, a place where moral didn't exist, a place where shame and self-disgust were common qualities. louis let the high wash over him and didn't think about anything else except this feeling of being _something._

it took three hours for him to finally crash, four hours before he couldn't bear it any longer, and five hours before he took another hit.

 

but you see, that's just what being an addict means--the urge to use fighting the need to stop.

_and louis was giving into his urges._

he told himself he'd leave the next day. he told himself he was just purging before the real journey of getting clean started, like fat tuesday before lent. he told himself he wouldn't keep experimenting and losing himself in the cycle of highs and crashes.

 

_(louis was lying to himself.)_

he smoked pipes, took lines, and even used a suspicious type of needle stan offered him. louis did anything to make sure the cocaine stayed in his veins because once it left and the high finally turned into reality, louis would be left to face all the feelings of disgust that relapsing entailed. and that's _exactly_ what louis was scared of. he tried outrunning time, and everyone knows that's impossible.

 

on the third day, louis wakes up and leaves before stan is even up.

 

he hasn't changed, shaved, showered or eaten a meal. louis is feeling terrifically _awful--_ it must be a new record for the worst mood ever. he knows he must look like death itself, but if he doesn't return home zayn will call the police or something.

 

so louis heads back to the flat, and zayn didn't call the police, but he _did_ call someone.

 

_harry._

he's sitting on the sofa in a beanie and sweatpants, curls escaping around his face. louis' chest pangs involuntarily--he's just so _pretty_ \--the supple lips, the pretty skin, the angled face, the jade eyes, the unruly curls, the lanky, teenage limbs. louis almost forgets the trouble he's in because that's just the affect harry has on him---

 

_almost._

"what. the. _fuck."_

zayn comes out of nowhere (or maybe he came out of somewhere and louis just had tunnel vision and didn't see) with a livid expression on his face. louis jumps and tears his eyes from harry's face.

 

"oh--hey zayn," he makes an attempt at a smile. "hey harry."

 

harry's face is unusually pale when he lays his sad eyes on louis. this should be a red flag, but louis is feeling a little bit off, like he's still on the tail end of a high. he tries to remember when he took his last hit, but he really has no idea.

 

"do a better job of hiding it next time," zayn says in disgust. "if you're going to come home, i don't want any reminders of _that_ on you."

 

louis glances at himself in utter confusion, and then understands. he's wearing a short sleeved shirt--totally inappropriate for the weather, but it was the only one stan could give him--and there are clear injection marks on his forearm. louis curses to himself for being so _stupid._

he really wants harry to leave before zayn does something stupid like _tell_ him.

 

"three fucking days?" zayn rounds on him against, face lined with disappointment. " _seriously, louis?_ how are you supposed to expect me to believe that you do something other than get high when you come home like _this?"_

"not here," louis begs with wide eyes, nodding towards harry. "look, i'll explain later--"

 

"don't want your excuses," zayn says in disgust. "and you should know-- i told harry everything. it's not fair for him to get involved in this situation without knowing what waters he's treading into."

 

louis' gaze whips over to harry, who's cowering in the overly-large sofa and looking extremely uncomfortable. his face tells louis he knows everything and that wasn't supposed to happen--zayn was the only one who could help, who louis _trusted..._

"i can't believe you'd fucking _dare,"_ louis spits, shaking with anger and sadness and shame and everything he tried to escape these last three days. "are you trying to take the last thing that matters to me? do you want _him_ to hate me more than i hate myself? is that what makes you happy, zayn?"

 

louis is crying now--fat, heavy tears running down his cheeks. he doesn't wait for a response before he sprints out of the door, down the steps, and outside into the cold winter air.

 

the last thing burned in his mind is the look of total blankness written on zayn's face.

 

but seriously _fuck zayn_ and everything that has to do with him. louis has regretted telling him anything since the moment it escaped his lips, and it keeps building by day. now harry knows and louis really wishes he was still at stan's with lines laid out in front of him like pathways leading to a life better than this one.

 

except he's not. he's sitting on the step to his flat and he's crying and he's so painfully sober that every emotion flooding though his mind is a thousand times more potent. louis is an absolute and utter mess who has respect from _no one_ in this whole entire world.

 

"hey."

 

louis knows before he looks up. he doesn't even have to _move_ in order to know it's harry because he's the only person who doesn't hate louis at the moment.

 

harry sits down and wraps his arm around louis' shoulder and sighs. he strokes louis' hair every now and then, but doesn't speak or make louis speak or acknowledge the situation in general. louis kind of likes that because he can hide in his arms and maybe hope this all goes away.

 

"remember when you called me extraordinary that day we met?" louis asks quietly. harry makes a little hum of acknowledgment and waits for louis to finish. "tell me harry, how extraordinary is the _real_ louis?"

 

he brings his face out of his arms and lets harry gaze upon his tear stained cheeks and the remnants of his bruises and the black circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. he lets harry gaze upon the face of an addict because that's what louis is and he can't soften that hard truth. there aren't any pretty lies to disguise the physical tracks written on louis' worn-out face.

 

"still think you're pretty extraordinary," harry says quietly, shrugging. "you're just sad and a little bit worn down by life, but you're still this beautiful kid with the world's prettiest blue eyes and a sense of humor unlike anyone else i've ever met."

 

the words make louis stiffen a little-- _no one has ever called him beautiful._ it would make him uncomfortable considering he thinks he’s absolute shit, but harry said it and harry makes him almost want to believe it.

 

louis doesn't know how to address the statement though--so he doesn't. and harry doesn't mind that louis changes subject, which proves how close-ended the statement was. harry isn't trying to make louis uncomfortable or build him up with false confidence--no, he's being honest and genuine and louis will never understand how he deserved someone like him.

 

"i don't get why you stand by me," louis buries his face back in his arms. "you're a young kid with your whole life ahead of you. god, harry--you should be out chasing _that_ and making a life for yourself."

 

"no," harry says quietly, "the whole world is right here, right _now._  from _day one_ i knew you weren't someone that i could let go easily, and now i'm invested. now i know i can't just _leave_ because there's this magnetic pull around you that holds me in. you jump, i jump, remember?"

 

louis sighs heavily. he lets silence swallow up the space in the conversation before he finally finds words for this next thought.

 

"harry... about what zayn told you about me," he says quietly, "i really didn't want you to find out that way."

 

"i really didn't want to find out that way either," harry chuckles sadly. "still, i don't think any _less_ of you for it. we all have our problems i suppose."

 

"this isn't a _little_ problem," louis snorts in disgust, wringing his hands. "look harry, i don't understand why you romanticize me so much. you can't make asphalt shine like a diamond--something zayn realizes apparently because he's not exactly being _supportive_ in all of this."

 

"i don't romanticize you," harry furrows his eyebrows. "i think you steeply underestimate yourself and when people see you as you _really_ are, you think they're skewing your image. learned about that in psychology once--but that's beside the point. with zayn it's complicated... louis, he's doing this because he cares about you and he doesn't know how to properly show it so he lashes out like a scared, wounded animal."

 

"why is he scared?" louis snorts in annoyance. "it's _my_ problem. _i'm_ not scared, and i don't want help, especially from him."

 

"but you need help," harry says quietly, taking louis' smaller hand in his large one. the touch feels familiar and comforting--it's the touch louis grew to know in the hospital when harry kept the bedside vigil. "you know you can't do it alone louis. that's why you reached out to zayn."

 

the truth of the statement sends shivers up his spine-- _harry understands his motives so well it's scary._

"we can go back in there and talk to him," harry continues gently. "he needs you as much as you need him. i can leave so you two can have your time."

 

"no," louis' head shoots up. "we'll end up murdering each other if someone doesn't pull us apart. that used to be niall's job until he got that music contract and moved to america... "

 

louis trails off aimlessly, remembering all the stupid shit that he did with niall and zayn. together they were the super trio--there wasn't much they couldn't do, and there was absolutely _nothing_ they didn't try. louis misses those days--when they were young and stupid and had time on their side.

 

adulthood isn't as fun as they make it seem.

 

"i'll stay then," harry says, obviously pleased. "and there is something else you should know, louis--when zayn told me about your problem, he was torn up with worry and confusion. he didn't want to embarrass or hurt you, but he needs a third opinion here so he told me."

 

"yeah," louis says awkwardly. "uh--i'm sorry for all of this, i guess."

 

"stop apologizing," harry grins. "you'll make me think i'm doing something wrong."   

 

louis is about to tell him that he _is_ doing something wrong because everything lately has felt so _forbidden,_ but harry is moving his hand and it startles louis--he looks down at his fingers as harry pries them open and sticks a crumpled paper into his palm---

 

"found that in your shirt at the hospital," harry has a warm glimmer in his eyes. "i'll be inside with zayn when you're ready. we'll sort this out."

 

harry stands up and walks inside, leaving louis with the crinkled paper. he unfolds it slowly, utterly confused and kind of apprehensive--

 

it's the note harry wrote him the first time they met. it's the note attached to the muffin signed with harry's love and a little smily face. it's the note that louis took with him to the alleyway a week and a half ago because it gave him a peace of mind nothing else could.

 

louis stares at it for a long, long time.

 

-

 

in his lifetime, louis has been through many awkward situations and survived all of them--for example, the sex talk with his dad and his first erection and coming out to zayn and accidentally crashing into his employer's car--but all of that seems inconsequential to the situation right in front of louis.

 

he's sitting at the kitchen table next to harry with his best friend seated opposite him, arms folded across his chest as he stares at louis with mingled disgust and anger. the crushing silence in the room doesn't help either.

 

louis sort of wants to disappear.

 

he would rather be anywhere, if he's honest--maybe even in that alleyway with nick. at least the pain from the fists and kicks fades after a while, but louis doesn't think he's ever going to forget the way zayn is looking at him. all he knows is that it _hurts_ and louis is just so tired of pain and suffering of both the physical and emotional kind. he wonders what it's like to live a life without constant agony.

 

"okay, so i know this is not my business," harry says uncomfortably, "but louis wanted me here and now i sort of see why. zayn, you can't keep looking at him like that--i feel cold from here. and louis, you have to _pretend_ like you're interested in this conversation. this is important."

 

"zayn is being a dick," louis mutters. "i don't even _need_ to be here right now."

 

" _i'm_ being a dick?" zayn's face flushes instantly. "that's rich, louis! sorry for _caring_ about you!"

 

"treating me like shit is caring for me?" louis spits, glaring at him. "i'd rather not have your _tender_ _loving_ _care_ then."

 

"let's count all the reasons why i'm allowed to be mad," zayn says furiously. "the _day_ you confess to me that you have an issue, you go out to get high! then you have the _balls_ to say you don't need help! and _then_ you think you can blow me off about the whole matter! tell me, is stupidity a side effect of being a cocaine addict?"

 

the words take a few minutes to register--louis can't believe his _best_ friend would say something like _that_ to him--but they finally do and louis feels a scorching hate race through his body like he's never felt before.

 

louis is lunging forward to grab zayn by his collar--his anger is pulsing red-hot through his veins and he just wants zayn to _understand_ some of the pain he's been through so zayn won't judge him so harshly, so he _understands_ how hard it is to go through what louis' has gone through--

 

except harry grabs him by the waist with a powerful arm and sits him back down firmly. louis fights madly against harry's restraint, but he's deceptively strong and it doesn't make a difference.

 

even after louis has calmed down, harry's hand doesn't leave his thigh.

 

" _enough,"_ harry says breathlessly, looking between the two of them. "both of you need to get over your bitter feelings. this is important--it's louis' _life_ we're talking about!"

 

zayn's chest is heaving and louis can't even _look_ at him. louis hates zayn and zayn just wants louis to be okay--but the translation is getting lost somewhere among all of his bitter words.

 

"look, i'm sorry," zayn says gruffly. he runs a hand down his face. "this is just a lot to handle for me and i'm obviously not doing it well, but it's all because i fucking _love_ you louis. you're everything to me."

 

"whatever," louis mutters, turning his head towards the smeared window. he watches the cars zoom past in the haunting grey air.

 

"louis," harry says quietly, leaning forward towards his cheek. his lips are ghosting over louis' warm skin as his whispers, " _c'mon_. zayn apologized."

 

the proximity sends an electric volt up louis' spine--he feels prickly and hypersensitive, but it's a pleasing sensation. harry is warm and he's close and he smells _so_ good and louis thinks everything would be okay if he never pulled away.

 

_(but he does and louis is thrown back into reality.)_

"okay," louis' words a bit more choked than he would've liked. " _okay._ i'm sorry zayn--i know this has been stressful for the both of us. and maybe i've not been cooperative lately, but it's because i'm kind of just... you know... _scared_ of getting better."

 

"scared?" zayn raises an eyebrow.

 

"well, not getting better _itself,"_ louis sighs. he doesn't meet anyone's gaze. "it's just--i've had two friends since this started, one being the cocaine and one being hope that i'd have the courage to quit. hope leaves a lot, but the cocaine didn't."

 

louis pauses to collect himself. he doesn't like feeling so _exposed._

"now i have to leave the cocaine and it feels lonely and desolate and friendless, which is ridiculous because i have you guys, but it's just hard," louis finishes roughly. "it made me feel like someone when everyone else made me feel like nothing."

 

zayn looks pale and shocked. he tries to say something--maybe an apology or a witty comment to ease the tension--but all words die on the tip of his tongue. even harry can't think of anything to say.

 

so louis keeps talking.

 

"when i was younger, my mum used to read me stories about good guys and bad guys and superheroes. in my story, the cocaine has always felt like a bad guy disguised as good guy, but i didn't know how to fight it because i'm not a superhero," louis' voice breaks a little bit. "it's so hard for me because i'm _louis_ and i'm friends with the bad guy who won't let me go."

 

zayn’s eyes are sad and remorseful when louis looks up towards him. there’s also this blaze of fire—this _passion—_ underneath it all that bursts through the surface. zayn reaches forward and grabs louis' shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze.

 

"but that's why you're going to win this," he says fiercely. "you're going to win this _because_ you're louis and _because_ we want to help you. listen louis, there isn't a thing harry and i wouldn't do for you-- _we're never going to leave you alone anymore."_

louis nods because that's all he can do--he's so overwhelmed by the look of complete _trust_ in zayn's face and the adoration in harry's. it feels like an ocean of water just crashed down on louis and he's drowning--except it's not the drowning that makes him want to sink. it's the drowning that makes him want to fight for air.

 

"thank you so much," louis manages. he can't really speak because there's this knot in his throat that makes it hard to speak--hard to breathe, really--and louis already knows what's going to happen before it does--

 

zayn reaches forward and envelops his small body into a hug, except it's not _just_ a hug. it's a promise that he's always going to be here to help, that he isn't leaving louis, that he _believes_ in him. it's everything that louis didn't know he needed.

 

and zayn starts crying into louis' shoulder which is absolutely _unheard_ of considering zayn doesn't _cry_ and it's all too much for louis, who loses it right on the spot.

 

they make quite a sight, to be honest.

 

harry laughs when they finally pull apart and shakes zayn's hand and hugs louis. they make a bit of awkward conversation then harry puts a card on the table for both of them to see, a card that makes louis' blood turn to ice and zayn's breathing to catch:

 

_liam payne: rehab specialist_

"i know him personally," harry says quietly. "he's a great guy. probably around your age too, louis."

 

 _rehab_.

 

the word burns into louis' mind like a brand.

 

"thank you harry," zayn nods, keeping his eyes trained on louis as if watching for him to overreact about the mention of professional help. "we'll see what he can do."

 

"i'm sure it'll work out just fine," harry smiles. "anyway, i have to get back home. i have a major developmental psychology test tomorrow, and i need to study. louis, can i have a word outside?"

 

louis' head jerks up in surprise, but he nods all the same.

 

"all right, thank you zayn," harry smiles, reaching for his shoes. "i hope we'll be in touch soon."

 

"i'm sure we will be," zayn gives him a nod back and folds his arms across his chest. he doesn't look intimidating--more like he's a little bit irritated. louis finally returns to him after three years of _nothing,_ and harry has the power to take him away again. zayn can just _tell_ that harry is sink or swim for louis--and that's dangerous.

harry opens the door and steps out, louis close by his heels. the silence in the hallway is only broken by harry pushing the door shut with a small _click._

 

and then harry is staring at louis and louis is staring at harry and something _happens--_ almost like a shift of earth's axis that tips everything and makes the world spin out of control. everything is just _there_ and it's irrelevant because louis'  center of gravity is staring at him with pretty green eyes and plump pink lips.

 

"listen louis," harry says softly, stepping forward. "i'm really proud of you. liam could help a lot though."

 

"right," louis mumbles. _rehab_ still burns in his mind.

 

"you mean a lot to me," harry continues in a gentle voice. "and i want to keep you around as long as possible. life is a little more interesting with louis around."

 

he smiles and steps closer-- _he's about an inch away from louis_ \--and their breath is intermingling and louis can smell harry's cologne and every alarm in his head is ringing because he knows how this situation starts and how it ends--

 

"you may see your story as a losing battle," harry breathes, closing his eyes, "but everyone has a little superhero somewhere inside them."

 

harry reaches forward and wraps his arms around louis' neck, pulling him so close that louis almost stumbles into harry's chest. the sudden force surprises louis--he's utterly confused when he raises his eyes--but harry shuts him up by leaning down and pressing his lips against louis'.

 

and louis responds _so_ eagerly, molding himself into harry's arms and running his hands through harry's tousled hair. their movements against each other are messy and very out-of-sync, but this is everything louis didn't know he needed and everything harry has ever needed. in fact, after the initial shock where harry expects louis to pull back and he doesn't, harry needs no more excuse to pull louis even closer.

 

this feeling coursing through louis as the taste of harry's mouth sits heavy on his own, this emotion pounding through his veins, it's like nothing louis has ever experienced before. he feels white hot and alive with energy, like he's hitting his best high yet except this one isn't synthetic--no, this high is the feeling of harry _wanting_ him, this high is the taste of harry's lips and the little sighs of pleasure he's making into louis' mouth. this high is nothing like louis has ever felt but he doesn't want to ever let it go, not now and not _ever._ louis swears that he would _never_ take a line of cocaine ever again because this rush is a thousand times more potent and a thousand times more addicting--

 

maybe it's a lifetime before they break apart or maybe it's a few minutes--louis can't tell because he's dazed and his mind is throbbing with the force of this drug coursing through his bloodstream. all he knows is harry is smiling at him broadly and his eyes are lit up like the fucking _stars_ and louis doesn't understand how he deserves to be looked at in this way.

 

"bye louis," harry steps back, eyes still locked on louis'. "i'll see you soon, yeah?"

 

"yeah," louis replies numbly--or maybe he doesn't even say anything because he's so _dazed._ harry just kissed louis. louis just kissed harry.

 

and louis would love nothing more than to do it again.

 

he watches harry's long, lanky form disappear down the hallway and out of sight. louis doesn't move for a few seconds after--he still doesn't understand this electricity pulsing through his body--but once he does, he's clumsy and disoriented.

 

 _harry just kissed louis. louis just kissed harry_.

 

louis feels high.

 

( _on happiness.)_

_-_

louis is sitting in the waiting room and he maybe feels like throwing up.

 

sitting around him are women with hollowed faces and men whose bodies are emancipated and frail. all of them have empty, dull eyes like they're souls with no purpose. bodies with no life.

 

the name _liam payne, rehab specialist_ hangs over the door.

 

louis has to remind himself to breathe several times.

 

harry and zayn are sitting on either side of him, whispering encouragements the whole time. harry's hand never leaves louis', and even though zayn gives harry a strange look, he's starting to get used to the idea of the two of them. they're not a _thing_ yet, but it's sort of implied by now. it's been three weeks and harry has barely left louis' side.

 

so yeah. zayn has begun to notice.

 

but it's okay because zayn likes harry and harry likes zayn and louis loves both of them.

 

( _louis doesn't remember being so happy in his whole life.)_

sitting in this waiting room has not only made him realize how _lucky_ he is to have people to support him, but it's also shown him how close he was to losing control of his life all together. the people sitting around him are half-dead and ruined, all because they started off like louis--kids who got too bored and thought they had time and youth on their side. the only difference between louis and the man sitting across from him is the point where they finally realized they were on a destructive path.

 

so as much as louis wonders _how_ harry and zayn talked him into this, louis is kind of grateful to be here and not be alone.

 

_(some people aren't as lucky.)_

"louis tomlinson?"

 

a pretty secretary with pretty chestnut hair and pretty hazel eyes steps forward and says his name in a clear, ringing voice. louis' whole body runs cold and his eyes dart towards harry in utter fear.

 

"shh," harry leans over to kiss him on the cheek and slips his hand into louis' overly sweaty one. "just go in there. it won't be that bad."

 

"we'll be here when you get back," zayn adds with an encouraging smile and a nod forward. "we can have a film marathon tonight--but you have to make it through this."

 

"we'll watch titanic," harry cuts in. "i'll make muffins and we can watch titanic and play scrabble."

 

louis doesn't really hear anything they're saying--their voices overlap and blend together into a one loud buzz of noise. all he can focus on is the smiling face of the secretary, waiting patiently for _louis tomlinson_ to step forward which is _wild_ because _louis tomlinson_ is him--

 

maybe it takes an hour for louis to stand up and four more for him to walk across the stretch of the waiting room towards the door. maybe the whole _world_ is watching him, eyes peeled and ready for him to fall or turn back and run away because that's what louis has done all his life. maybe louis is just drowning in fear of change-- _liam payne, rehab specialist_ is the very picture of change.

 

"hello louis," the smiling secretary says. the nametag on her shirt reads _eleanor calder._ "welcome to new horizon addiction and rehabilitation center. liam payne will see you now."

 

"yeah," louis says distantly, "right."

 

his eyes are stuck on a poster hanging on the wall. it's a picture of a pathway winding towards the sun with a single person on the beginning of the long road. underneath it is a caption reading _'rock bottom become the solid foundation on which i rebuilt my life."_

 

louis thinks maybe he likes that.

 

so he follows the secretary down a carpeted hallway with the phrase burned in his mind. he doesn't think about anything except _his_ rock bottom and how it landed him in an alleyway of a bakery with quite possibly the most extraordinary human being ever. louis thinks about how that day was a pivotal point in his life and how it lead him to be here right now--his solid foundation is zayn and harry, and here is where louis will rebuild his life.

 

liam payne's door is open and the secretary is ushering him and louis has to _breathe._

_is this what rebirth is?_ louis wonders to himself as time freezes once again and he's stuck in another momentous moment where he could run or he could take the next step. _does this feel right?_

 

and despite louis' overwhelming nervousness, he thinks it does.

 

( _louis, do you feel extraordinary?)_

ashe takes his first step into liam's office, as he pushes back the past in return for a new future, as louis takes that chance on a better tomorrow, he can honestly say that the answer is _yes_ for the first time in a long, long while.

 

louis _isn't_ extraordinary. he's one person doing lots of little extraordinary things.

_(and that itself makes louis the good guy.)_

_-_

 

fall seeps into a cold winter. louis' birthday passes in a flurry of cake and celebration and midnight kisses on the rooftop with a whole lot of _happiness_ mixed in between. louis goes to bed feeling more content than he has in years, and more often than not, there’s a long, lanky teenager curled under the duvet waiting for him when louis crawls under the sheets.

 

so yeah. it isn’t a perfect life, but it’s a pretty fucking _good_ one in louis’ opinon.

 

spring comes late that year, but it also brings with it waves of color and life back into earth. the very _air_ is heavy with vitality and promise and creation--louis breathes it in and lets the renewal run through his veins.

 

louis wakes up every day and feels so goddamn _lucky_ to be alive.

 

not only does louis have his life, he has control over things in it and he has people around him that make it worth living. louis hasn't contacted nick or stan in _months_ now because he doesn't need to and louis _loves_ the feeling of liberation from the shackles of his old life.

 

and then louis has zayn--but really, when will he _not_ have zayn?

 

but louis also has a boy with bright green eyes and curly hair and plump pink lips and a golden aura, except this boy isn't a friend or a family member--this boy is _his._

harry is the first smile louis wakes up to in the morning and the last kiss he receives before he goes to bed. harry is the warmth in his sheets on a lazy sunday morning and the lanky body he falls asleep in on passionate saturday nights. harry is the tea that runs sugar through his veins and the alcohol that pulses electric energy in his body. harry is louis' most potent drug and louis is hopelessly addicted, but louis thinks this is the good kind of addiction. it's the addiction that makes every moment with harry feel golden and splendid and airy, like louis is living in a subspace too good for reality.

 

he smiles a lot without realizing it and zayn makes fun of him for being love drunk, but he's just as happy for louis as louis is for himself.

 

it's been such a long time since louis had something nice to himself and every moment, every kiss, every caress spent with harry is _louis'_ and his solely and louis is just _really_ in love with everything about harry.

 

for example, louis knows all the silly things about harry that only intimacy would teach him--like harry's slight pigeon-toed walk and the way he mumbles in his sleep and the knit his eyebrows make when he's perplexed. louis knows all the planes of harry's bare chest and the sharp angles of his jawline and the taunt strength in his upper legs. louis knows the taste of harry's skin--creamy and soft--and the feel of harry's curls and the sound of his happy laughs. louis has these things memorized because they're the things that make his life just a bit more extraordinary.

 

louis is slowly building his life up brick by brick.

 

_(soon he'll have a glowing palace.)_

-      

 

"louis," harry's voice is thick and heavy and lathered in sleep. "do you know what today is?"

 

"the day niall comes back from america?" louis answers absentmindedly. he's lying in bed, arms wrapped around harry's shoulders as he peppers his skin in morning kisses.

 

zayn hasn’t stopped preparing for niall’s big return since he called two months ago and said he was coming home for a break. it’s been a frenzy getting things in order, but louis is honestly _so_ excited to get niall back, even if there’s been a world of change since they were last friends.

 

"no," harry chuckles. "but that's a good thing too. take another guess."

 

"the first day zayn hasn't barged in on us for sleeping in late?" louis guesses. he really doesn't know what harry's on about--but then again, he never really does.

 

"no!" harry laughs again and tilts his head up to meet louis' eyes. "he's probably with liam--you know how they've been lately--"

 

"practically _glued_ to each other," louis smiles. "zayn used to laugh at me for being with you, but he's practically got _stars_ in his eyes when liam comes around for dinner."

 

it's kind of funny how louis' rehab counselor became zayn's _not so secret_ crush, but it's okay because louis has grown to love liam like he's family and zayn deserves someone to make him happy too. it's kind of cute how their relationship is evolving--lots of shy touches and awkward conversations and coveted looks. louis and harry have been nudging them towards each other for weeks now.

 

"love is a weird thing," harry muses. he pauses for a minute, pondering the thought before he adds, "you're down to one guess and you're not even close, louis."

 

"you've stumped me," louis runs his hands through harry's tousled curls. "can't keep up with my smart university boy anymore."

 

"m'not smart," harry mumbles.

 

"excuse me," louis says sarcastically. "didn't know that people who _weren't_ smart could get into _cambridge_. shit, if i told my mum i'd been accepted there she'd laugh in my face."

 

"that's not funny louis," harry says except he’s suppressing back a laugh and doing a terrible job of it.

 

"whatever," louis rolls his eyes in mock exasperation. "now tell me what i've been failing to guess. i'm becoming impatient."

 

"yes, right,'" harry pushes himself onto his elbows so he can look at louis--and again louis is struck by how _beautiful_ harry is. the sun crowns his face in golden light, making him look soft and ethereal around the edges. "today marks six months since that day in the alleyway. isn't that weird?"

 

" _six months?"_ louis eyes widen in surprise. "that is-- _wow."_

six months seems like such a short time for a life to change, but louis supposes that every day presents a turning point. every day is a little step on that long journey to _wellness_ , and louis has taken six months of them without one step back. he just never expected it to take him this far.

 

in six months, louis has gotten clean, fell in love, reconnected with his family, and even started applying for jobs. louis has pulled himself out of finical ruin and gotten his health back to perfection and mended all his broken relationships.

 

louis' life has been on pause since addiction started, and he's been making up for all the lost time since addiction ended. everything is in fast forward and hyper-clarity--louis has forgotten what so many of the small things have meant in life, and he's slowly rediscovering their wonder day by day.

 

"you're so different from then," harry says slowly, furrowing his eyebrows. "but none of the louis i grew to love has changed. you're still snarky and quippy and way too sarcastic for your own good, but you're also happier and healthier and you smile a lot. _like a lot."_

"i feel different," louis muses. "six months ago, i used to tell myself that life is like the stories my mum read to me when i was young. there are good guys and bad guys and superheroes and circumstances which shape your ending. i was always fighting the bad guy and always seeing it as a losing battle because i wasn't a good guy or a superhero--"

 

louis trails off, stroking harry's cheek as the silence engulfs the two of them.

 

"but now i know there aren't any good guys or bad guys or superheroes. life is a story, but it's not defined by the labels of the people that are in it--no, life is defined by momentous moments and how you let that affect your view on people," louis continues slowly. "there aren't any superheroes--there are just ordinary people surrounded by extraordinary events. there aren't any bad guys--there are just evil things who can only become bad if you let them into your life. so really, there isn't an archetype for how to live and there isn't an story for reality--it's how you write it."

 

"exactly," harry smiles, lifting his face up to meet louis'. "you aren't defined by what you've done, louis. you're defined by how you've learned from those things."

 

"i think i've done a pretty good job," louis smiles quietly as harry leans closer. they're inches away from each other now--he can count the freckles on the bridge of harry's nose.

 

"absolutely wonderful, if i do say so myself," harry breathes, closing his eyes. "god louis--i love you. i'm so incredibly, overwhelmingly in love with you."

 

"you already know the feeling is mutual," louis brings his hand up to harry's face, cupping his chin. "but i'll say it again— _harry styles, i'm so utterly in love with you too."_

and then louis kisses harry, slow and lazy and it's still like a million stars shooting through his veins and pulsing his body with electricity. it _always_ is--louis wonders if the feeling he gets from being so _close_ to harry will ever fade because he's kissed him a thousand times and it still makes him dizzy and disoriented, like the earth's axis shifted underneath their feet.

 

harry is louis' drug. the high he pushes louis to is a thousand times more powerful than a line of cocaine could ever deliver and a thousand times more potent. louis is helplessly addicted except this addiction isn't the evil kind. this is the addiction louis is holding on to because it changed his life and brought him more happiness than he could've _ever_ hoped for.

 

_(louis, do you feel extraordinary?)_

there are hardly any days where the answer is  _no._


End file.
